Or Maybe Not
by RainingParis
Summary: In that local Parisian cafe is where they once again meet, possibly to reconnect forever. Oneshot. Niley.


She was sitting outside the coffee shop, legs crossed, arm extended and hand coiled around her hot beverage. It was a lovely day: tourists roamed with twinkling eyes, lovers strolled hand in hand, and everyday citizens walked through without acknowledging their surroundings. Everyone had somewhere to be; everyone had their own story. The woman pushing her baby's stroller had exhaustion painted on her face, the little children giggling among themselves were epitomes of innocence. The sky was a pleasing shade of blue - the kind of baby blue that complemented fluffy clouds and that yellow smiling sun on the corner in children's drawings.

Bringing her warm drink to her lips, she leaned back onto her chair. The gentle wind caressed her brunette locks, her hair flowing smoothly. Her eyes were following a routine: look left, then right. Left. Right. Left. Right. She had taken interest in observing life as it happens.

She sipped her drink mindlessly; savoring had been done eleven days and eleven daily coffees ago.

Following her routine once more, she couldn't help but widen her eyes upon seeing him.

It couldn't be him, could it?

Surely not.

Of course not.

Her eyes were fixated on him. She was focused on him and only him, watching as he strode towards her closer, and closer, and closer, until...

_'Oh my, he's right in front of me.'_

She held her breath. His presence simply astounded her.

"May I?" he said, ever so coolly. He grinned and gestured at the empty chair across from her.

His voice brought her back to her senses. She nodded. Was the nod too eager? Was it so small that he could not see it? What impression did it give off?

Air passed through her lips. It had been fifteen years since they'd met and the way she tends to act around him is one of the things had not changed a bit. She was always so different around him - she would flip her hair more often and bat her eyelashes while at the same time cackling madly and snorting in the most imperfect ways.

She assumed they were going to exchange words. Pent up feelings had always resulted in ridiculously loud, angry, and absurd banters all because they were in love. Yet he sat there, hips apart, elbows propped on his knees, hands pressed together beneath his chin (which now had stubble by the way), just staring at people. Not at her, but the people. He was mimicking her routine, looking left, and then right, and left, and then right. He too was absorbing the Parisian atmosphere.

The essence of tranquility she was cherishing seemed to have gone away. It was as if he snatched if from her just solely from copying her actions. Her pulsating heart pounded in her ears.

She was starting to feel _angry_. There were explanations needed to be done, apologies to be made and accepted, and perhaps even arguments to arise. Silence was not their thing and it was never was. (Unless they were engaged in a liplock, of course. But then again, she adored hearing his whispered promises in between, so it wasn't silence after all.) There simply was no time for it.

She looked at him with that signature frustrated look that she knew he could very well read. He looked at her too - with those sincere brown eyes that could tame her at any given time and his smile of empathy and understanding.

There was still silence as his eyes traveled south now, from her face to the curve of her neck, to her shoulder blades, to her long arms and finally it settled on her hands. Her left, specifically.

For a split second she was confused, but she then understood. She imitated what he'd done. Neither spoke.

His still crooked teeth were put on display as his loving grin widened. Her lips perfectly coated in red stretched as she gave justice to her nickname.

Perhaps they could try that silence thing.

"It's still you," he said.

Or maybe not.

**Author's Note: ** **I hope you were able to imagine it as beautifully as I did in my head. The title has a deeper meaning. **


End file.
